


Breaking a Toothpick

by Cantatrice18



Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Gen, Guilt, Murder, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: Overcome by the destruction of the jet, Mr. Incredible lets rage get the better of him. A single mistake leaves him devastated, unable to look away from the body of the young woman he murdered.A dark take on what might have happened when Mr. Incredible captured Mirage.





	1. Chapter 1

He was accustomed to anger. It was a natural response for a Super fighting criminal masterminds on a daily basis. He'd learned to manage it, held it in check in order to preserve his cover. Now, though, he had no reason to dampen the fury that blazed through his veins. Nothing mattered anymore. Everything he'd worked for, everything he'd created in 15 years of civilian life was gone, destroyed by an ego fueled, attention seeking psychopath with a vengeance complex. He would never see his kids again, never watch them grow up. And Helen . . .

As Syndrome entered his field of vision grief roared through his muscles and sinews, a rush of agony that made the shackles on his wrists feather light. With every ounce of strength he had he lunged forward, desperate to tear apart the monster who'd taken everything from him. 

Instead his arms closed upon a much smaller figure, a pencil-thin woman with white blonde hair and wide, amber eyes. Mirage. Pinned against his broad chest by the force of his shackles, he could feel her short, gasping breaths through the fabric of his suit. Disappointment tore at his heart, coupled with fury that his target had evaded him again. If it hadn't been for Mirage he'd have succeeded. Hatred, reserved at first for Syndrome, now spread to encompass Mirage as well. She was an accomplice in this mad butchery of supers, as responsible in her sophisticated, soft-spoken way for the deaths of his family as Syndrome was. She could have stopped the missiles. She'd chosen her employer's orders over innocent lives. 

His grip tightened without even realizing it. Syndrome's face was all he saw, fleshy and freckled and utterly evil. Suddenly he heard a snap and felt something jerk violently against his chest. An agonized scream echoed through the chamber. His concentration wavered and he looked down to find Mirage limp in his arms. Blood was spreading across the left side of her tailored grey suit, a sickening dark stain below her heart. Her ribcage, already narrow, had collapsed on one side, crushed between his bicep and forearm. The sight made his mind go blank, wiping out any other emotion. To his utter horror he felt her slip through his grasp. He watched helplessly as she fell ten feet to the floor, where she lay still and unmoving. 

There was a moment of complete and total silence. Syndrome's face was white with shock beneath his freckles. Then, slowly at first but with growing enthusiasm, the boy genius began to laugh. "Oh, Mr. Incredible, look what you've done! You've killed a Civie! After all your posturing, all your heroic daring-dos." He pointed at Mirage where she lay. "'Civilian Crushed by Has-been Super!'" he crowed. "Or wait, wait - 'Washed Up Hero Murders Innocent Woman!' Gosh, so many headlines to choose from!"

"She might still be alive," Mr. Incredible breathed, more like a prayer than a statement of fact. "Get her to a hospital, quickly. I know you have the resources. She could survive."

"Mmm," Syndrome said doubtfully, crossing his arms as though considering a business proposition. "I could do that, I suppose. But I'd rather leave you two together. Those shackles will give you an excellent view of her final moments."

"She saved you," Mr. Incredible insisted, hearing the desperation in his own voice. "You owe her your life."

Syndrome's eyes narrowed. "I don't owe anyone. She chose to put herself in danger. Perhaps she counted on the great Mr. Incredible to do the honorable thing. More fool her."

He spun on his heel and marched toward the door. "It seems I'll have to find a new assistant. My old one proved a bit too delicate for her position." He chuckled as he reached the door, and left without looking back. 

Mr. Incredible closed his eyes, but the image of Mirage's broken body stayed with him. He relived the fatal moment again and again in his mind. How could he have let this happen? He'd known full well that Mirage didn't have powers, that her body was fragile and delicate compared to the super villains he'd fought in the olden days. The muscles of his arm twitched at the memory. He'd had nightmares about this very situation for as long as he could remember. His worst fear had always been hurting innocent people. And now, after so many years, he finally had. 

He forced himself to gaze down upon the woman he'd crushed. Her half-open eyes were glassy in death. Her tangled limbs were stiff and lifeless. Her head was tilted at an unnatural angle from the fall and her features were frozen in an expression of anguish that sent guilt crashing over him like a wave. It hardly mattered anymore that she'd been Syndrome's henchman. She'd still been human, worthy of protection. And he'd broken her, fatally injured her without even realizing it. It had been so easy. As easy as snapping a toothpick. 

There could be no forgiveness now.


	2. Chapter 2

Helen slid the stolen key card along the side of the glowing keypad and the door to cell A113 gave way. She gasped, horrified. Her husband was suspended in a web of ominous blue light, bolts of energy encasing the metal shackles that held him prisoner. He hung limp and defeated, staring down at something beneath him. She was halfway up the raised dais before she realized what had caught his attention. 

A woman lay crumpled upon the shining black stone, her long limbs tangled, her white-blonde hair falling in tendrils over her shoulders. A dark stain that looked suspiciously like blood soaked her left side, pooling on the floor beneath her. Her eyes were half open and glassy in death. Helen stared, speechless, then tore her gaze away and looked up at her husband. Bob looked as though he'd aged fifty years since last she'd seen him, his eyes red and bloodshot, his face lined with exhaustion. "Bob?" Helen asked hesitantly. "Honey, can you hear me?"

She could see him breathing. He was alive, and yet unable or unwilling to look at her. An intruder alert continued to ring through the volcanic complex; they had very little time. Her eyes darted around, searching for anything that could help. On her right: a console, its screens glowing faintly. She was there in an instant, fingers lengthening as she reached for a lever marked "power level". As she pulled it, the electricity feeding into the iron shackles flickered and faded. Bob fell to the dais with a crash, the shackles cracking open. She ran to him, kneeling beside him, one hand hovering inches from his massive shoulder. Something made her uneasy, unwilling to touch him. What if the evil genius controlling the island had managed to do something to her husband's mind, turned him into a mindless weapon? "Bob, look at me. Please."

Steeling herself, she let her hand fall to rest on his shoulder. The moment she touched him his muscles clenched. A split second later he'd pinned her down, hands placing enough pressure on her forearms she felt her body stretch instinctively to keep from breaking. Bob's face was a mask of pain. "Syndrome, do you want me to kill her too?" he growled. "Is this your fantasy?"

Helen had no idea what he was talking about, but she did know that if Bob decided to attack her he could cause more damage than she could easily sustain and still manage to lead her family out of danger. Her children were counting on her. Letting one arm extend as far as she could, she used the force of her arm retracting to deliver the strongest punch she could to the side of her husband's head. Perhaps from sheer surprise, Bob's grip on her loosened enough for her to slither out of his grasp. She leapt away, poised to defend herself, but Bob did not move from the floor. "What more do you want?" he murmured, as though to himself. "You've taken everything. My wife, my children. You've made me into a murderer, destroyed every part of me that was once a hero. Isn't that enough?"

His voice cracked and faded into silence. Helen suddenly found it hard to breathe. She'd never seen him so emotional, not when he'd broken the news for the third time that they'd have to move, or when Violet had first displayed her powers. Bob was crying. The strongest man she knew was crying. "Honey, please," she found herself pleading. "Look at me. I'm here, I'm right here."

With painstaking slowness, Bob turned his head to look. His expression was haunted, ravaged by pain and grief. Their eyes met and Helen held her breath, willing him to recognize her. The longest moment of her life passed until finally he blinked. "Helen?" he whispered.

She exhaled, running forward to kneel beside him once more, embracing him. "Bob, thank goodness. We have to get out of here."

"The...the kids?"

"Safe, last I saw," Helen assured him. "I left them in a cave."

"You're alright," Bob murmured numbly, running a tentative hand down her back. "I thought . . ."

His face twisted in pain and horror. Releasing her, he stood and looked over to where the blonde woman's body lay still and lifeless on the dais. Helen followed suit, one arm still wrapped around his waist as though afraid he might revert back to the rage-filled creature he'd been moments before. "Who was she?" Helen asked quietly.

Memory stirred: a sultry voice on the phone, a blonde hair standing out against the dark fabric of Bob's jacket. This had to be the woman she'd imagined dozens of times, the woman she'd pictured Bob caressing whenever he went on a "Business Trip". She felt abruptly self-conscious, separate from Bob in a way she hadn't been moments before. "What happened to her?" Helen managed, when she'd brought her feelings under control.

"I killed her," Bob said dully. 

"You killed her," Helen repeated, not sure she'd heard properly. "But you were imprisoned, shackled."

She leaned in, examining the blonde's injuries more closely. The woman's left side was unnaturally flat as though crushed by some enormous force. "No . . ." Helen breathed. It was impossible to believe, and yet she knew of no one else capable of inflicting such damage. "But why?"

"I thought you were dead." Bob said softly. His voice was that of a lost child. "I couldn't control myself. You were gone, the kids too, and then Syndrome started laughing. I tried to attack him, but I caught her instead."

"It was an accident, then," Helen said, trying to understand, to make sense of things. 

Bob shook his head. "I could have released her. I should have. But I hated her in that moment. She let you die." He closed his eyes unable to look at the woman's body for a moment longer. "Syndrome goaded me, dared me to hurt her. I couldn't think straight, everything was so raw, and then . . ."

He gestured toward the corpse. Helen leaned against him, doing her best to comfort him. "It's alright. It's--"

"Stop," Bob cut her off. "It isn't alright. It will never be alright."

"No," Helen admitted. "It won't. But right now I need you. Our family needs you. You have to focus, to set everything else aside long enough for us to get off this island and back home. After that . . ."

She let the statement go unfinished. It was obvious that Bob would not be normal again for a very long time (maybe ever). Helen herself would have to come to terms with this new version of her husband: a man capable of inflicting deadly force upon a civilian. But unless they managed to escape the island in one piece, they'd never get the chance to heal. 

Taking Bob's hand, she drew him down off the dais and toward the still-open door. She kept her eyes on him, ignoring the dead woman just feet away. Despite all their flaws, they were superheroes. They had a job to do.


End file.
